her third overtime shift that week. So much for a relaxing evening at home with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s—one of the few remaining items in her refrigerator.
“Let me guess…Lana’s sick.” Cameron poked her head out from the kitchen and rolled her eyes.
“Yes, but I could use the extra shift anyway.” Molly went to the cash register to ring in Mr. Wall Street’s lunch. She took the cash out from under the tip jar and gasped. A hundred dollar bill was wrapped around his business card. Aiden Ford, Consultant . He’d written something on the back. Call Bob about your tires, he’ll take care of you. A phone number was scribbled underneath.
“What’s that?” Cameron came through the swinging screen door from the kitchen, carrying a turtle cheesecake. The smell of dark chocolate and caramel filled the air. She slid the cake into the display case and turned her attention to Molly.
Molly handed her the card and the hundred-dollar bill.
Cameron let out a low whistle. “That was generous of him.”
“He eavesdropped on our conversation.” Molly punched the numbers into the till.
“We weren’t exactly whispering, Molly,” Cameron pointed out, handing her the bill to deposit into the open register.
Molly removed eighty-seven dollars and huffed. “He didn’t have to listen. I’ll run after him. Be right back.” She dashed through the door, not pausing for her coat.
“At least take a thirty percent tip!” Cameron shouted through the open door and shook her head.
Molly wrapped her arms around her thin frame and jogged through the puddles of slush on the busy sidewalk. Where had he gone so fast?
She spotted him at the corner, waiting on the light. “Mr. Ford!”
He turned at the sound of his name, but didn’t move toward her.
Breathless, she reached him a moment later. “Thanks for meeting me halfway…” She placed a hand under her ribs and took a deep breath. “Here, you left your change.” She extended the money toward him.
“Yes, I know.” The light turned to walk, and he stepped off the curb.
Frustrated, she followed. “Thank you, but I can’t accept this or your help with the tires.” She thrust the handful of bills in his direction and stepped over a dark pile of slush on the street.
He ignored her and kept walking. He stopped once they reached the opposite corner and turned. “Holly, is it?”
“Molly,” she corrected, her teeth chattering. Why won’t he just take the money so I can go back inside? The wind whipped through her thin white V-neck sweater, and she shivered. People moved around them, shooting them looks that suggested they take their conversation inside and quit blocking the passageway.
“Okay, Molly, here’s the thing. I make that in about seven minutes, so it’s really nothing. Waiting for you to get off the phone would have cost me just as much.” He looked at his Rolex. “This conversation is costing me, so if you’ll excuse me, this is my building.” He ignored the money in her outstretched hand and her open-mouthed expression. He opened the door to the building and turned back. “Look, I’m a personal consultant. It’s my job to fix people’s lives when they can’t.”
Too stunned by his rudeness to speak, Molly stepped aside as delivery men carried heavy crates of vegetables into the market.
“And call Bob. There’s snow on the way.” He gave a quick, dismissive wave and disappeared inside the skyscraper.
Like hell she’d call Bob. What a rude man! Fix her life? Her life did not need fixing. Her life needed a good paying P.R. job. It needed a small bank loan to put new winter tires on her Jeep. And it needed a good excuse for missing Christmas at their family home this year, an ordeal she didn’t think she could handle, but nothing needed fixing. Especially not by Aiden Ford.
She jogged in the direction of the café and cringed as her foot landed in a deep puddle on the sidewalk. Okay, and now I need dry socks before I start the night
“Let me guess…Lana’s sick.” Cameron poked her head out from the kitchen and rolled her eyes.
“Yes, but I could use the extra shift anyway.” Molly went to the cash register to ring in Mr. Wall Street’s lunch. She took the cash out from under the tip jar and gasped. A hundred dollar bill was wrapped around his business card. Aiden Ford, Consultant . He’d written something on the back. Call Bob about your tires, he’ll take care of you. A phone number was scribbled underneath.
“What’s that?” Cameron came through the swinging screen door from the kitchen, carrying a turtle cheesecake. The smell of dark chocolate and caramel filled the air. She slid the cake into the display case and turned her attention to Molly.
Molly handed her the card and the hundred-dollar bill.
Cameron let out a low whistle. “That was generous of him.”
“He eavesdropped on our conversation.” Molly punched the numbers into the till.
“We weren’t exactly whispering, Molly,” Cameron pointed out, handing her the bill to deposit into the open register.
Molly removed eighty-seven dollars and huffed. “He didn’t have to listen. I’ll run after him. Be right back.” She dashed through the door, not pausing for her coat.
“At least take a thirty percent tip!” Cameron shouted through the open door and shook her head.
Molly wrapped her arms around her thin frame and jogged through the puddles of slush on the busy sidewalk. Where had he gone so fast?
She spotted him at the corner, waiting on the light. “Mr. Ford!”
He turned at the sound of his name, but didn’t move toward her.
Breathless, she reached him a moment later. “Thanks for meeting me halfway…” She placed a hand under her ribs and took a deep breath. “Here, you left your change.” She extended the money toward him.
“Yes, I know.” The light turned to walk, and he stepped off the curb.
Frustrated, she followed. “Thank you, but I can’t accept this or your help with the tires.” She thrust the handful of bills in his direction and stepped over a dark pile of slush on the street.
He ignored her and kept walking. He stopped once they reached the opposite corner and turned. “Holly, is it?”
“Molly,” she corrected, her teeth chattering. Why won’t he just take the money so I can go back inside? The wind whipped through her thin white V-neck sweater, and she shivered. People moved around them, shooting them looks that suggested they take their conversation inside and quit blocking the passageway.
“Okay, Molly, here’s the thing. I make that in about seven minutes, so it’s really nothing. Waiting for you to get off the phone would have cost me just as much.” He looked at his Rolex. “This conversation is costing me, so if you’ll excuse me, this is my building.” He ignored the money in her outstretched hand and her open-mouthed expression. He opened the door to the building and turned back. “Look, I’m a personal consultant. It’s my job to fix people’s lives when they can’t.”
Too stunned by his rudeness to speak, Molly stepped aside as delivery men carried heavy crates of vegetables into the market.
“And call Bob. There’s snow on the way.” He gave a quick, dismissive wave and disappeared inside the skyscraper.
Like hell she’d call Bob. What a rude man! Fix her life? Her life did not need fixing. Her life needed a good paying P.R. job. It needed a small bank loan to put new winter tires on her Jeep. And it needed a good excuse for missing Christmas at their family home this year, an ordeal she didn’t think she could handle, but nothing needed fixing. Especially not by Aiden Ford.
She jogged in the direction of the café and cringed as her foot landed in a deep puddle on the sidewalk. Okay, and now I need dry socks before I start the night
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